Five and a Half Minute Hallway
by Sita Masters
Summary: Philinda AU - Phil and Melinda are neighbors in an apartment building. Inspired by the song "Five and a Half Minute Hallway" by Poe.
1. Chapter 1

_"I live at the end of a five and half minute hallway. But as far as I can see, you are still miles from me, in your doorway."_

It was the third time this week the mail had been dropped off in the wrong box. He was pretty sure that it was fate just taunting him at this point. Phil Coulson looked down the dimly lit hallway. The olive green paint was peeling on most of the edges. He was surprised it was still there at all. It hadn't been touched up in over two decades. The worn carpet was patchy at best in most areas. The doors to the individual apartments had stickers for numbers and old locks that barely sufficed to keep out anyone.

But locks weren't needed on Melinda May's door. Phil couldn't bring himself to step inside that doorway even if she'd offer a common hospitality.

They were only two doors apart but that walk down the hallway was like crossing the Serengeti. He clutched the bills in his hand that had her name on them. If he remembered correctly, she was at work right now. Slowly, he took a step, his feet like lead weights. What was only a few seconds seemed like hours as he stood before her door and knelt down, carefully slipping in the mail under her door.

He almost tumbled over as her door opened.

Melinda grinned. "Hey, Phil."

He cleared his throat as he stood. "Sorry. Didn't want to disturb you." He sheepishly held up the mail. "Benny got the wrong box again."

She grinned at him, her slender fingers brushing his some as she took it. "Thank you."

Phil had to take in a breath. Her skin was so soft. He couldn't believe she was just a bartender. She moved with much more grace and beauty.

"You okay?"

He blinked, his cheeks tinging pink. "Yeah. Just… tired." He'd worked overtime at the security desk. It wasn't exciting, but it was money.

Melinda nodded. "You've been coming home later." She'd noticed. Him. She'd known his schedule.

"Oh, uh, well, yeah." He scratched the back of his neck.

She stepped aside. "You wanna come in for some muffins?"

He chewed his lip a little. She was dressed in snug jeans and a tight tank top that allowed him to see the definition of her muscles and curves. He'd lived there over a year and they'd never crossed the doorway. "I… should rest."

She gave a nod and a slight grin. "Well, thanks for the mail." She smiled and slowly shut the door, leaving him there in the hall.

_"You can think of it like this: when you can't resist I'm in your hallway standing on a just when I think I find the trick I'm tumbling like an echo."_


	2. Chapter 2

Phil hated the fifth of the month. The landlord always made the rounds for rent and he never got his check until the seventh. It was a game of cat and mouse that they always played. Phil would just keep the apartment silent until the next day.

But in that silence, he could hear a lot.

And today? He heard yelling from down the hall.

"Let me in, you bitch!" an angry man pounded on a door, rattling the hall lights.

Phil stood when he heard Melinda's voice reply. "Not by the hairs on your chinny chin chin, ass."

A smile spread on his face. He'd always seen her as the "don't mess with me" type. She was calm, composed and didn't take any crap from anyone. But she could also be warm and kind. This made her a great bartender.

"I'll kick this door in!" the man shouted.

Phil didn't like that. He pulled his sidearm from his coat that was hanging in his closet and slinked over to his door, opening it enough to see.

A burly, brutish looking man was pounding on Melinda's door, his clothing and… pungent fragrance… let Phil know the man was obviously drunk and had seen better days.

Phil tucked his gun in the back of his jeans and stepped out. "Hey, buddy. Mind keeping it down. Trying to practice that diminished fifth on my bass."

The man spun around, a little too fast it seemed. His blurry eyes focused somewhat on Phil. "Shut up and get out of here."

Phil shook his head. "I think you might want to take a walk." One step closer. The hallway didn't seem so long now. Although, if it was, he would still run it to keep her safe.

The man pulled a knife from his pocket. "Whatcha gonna do if I don't?" he slurred.

Phil took another step. "Look, man, just go sleep it off."

The man made a sloppy lunge and Phil could have easily dodged it if he hadn't looked up at that moment to see Melinda coming out. The distraction was just enough to let the knife slip across his left side, slicing his t-shirt and drawing blood.

At that sight, Melinda's eyes darkened and Phil wasn't sure if he wanted to really see what was going to happen next.

She was on the man in an instant, twisting his arm painfully behind his back and lodging the knife into his shoulder. "Get out now," she hissed, shoving him down the stairs.

Phil put a hand to his side, watching her in awe. He knew she was tough but the speed and skill she used made her… even hotter than he thought possible.

Satisfied that the man was no longer a threat, she turned to Phil with her eyes back to that warm, soft glow. "You're hurt," she observed as she came over. "Come on. Let me help you." She put a hand on his arm, guiding him into her apartment.

Oddly, the only thing Phil could think was: "Hey, it's one way to avoid the landlord."

Melinda's apartment was tidy, organized. It even had a very zen feeling about it. He probably could have appreciated more if his side didn't sting like a bitch.

"Sit," she instructed him. "And take off your shirt." She dipped into the bathroom.

His breath hitched a little as he tugged off the cut and bloodied shirt. He was undressing in the apartment of Melinda May, the woman he'd had a high school style crush on for the last seven or eight months.

His hand came up, gently touching the scar near his heart. He'd blocked out what happened and wondered what he was going to tell her when she asked about it. The jagged lines of the raised flesh were torn, not surgical. Something had happened to him but he was damned if he knew what it was.

She came back out with antiseptic and a small sewing kit. "You should have moved," she quipped as she set the supplies out.

"Planned to," he confirmed. "Just kinda didn't expect your involvement."

He held his breath as she moved closer, smelling of lavender and vanilla. Quickly, she pulled his gun from the back of his jeans. "And this?"

"Plan B."

She grinned and set it aside. "Dale was harmless." She soaked a cloth in the antiseptic and started cleaning his wound.

Phil bit the inside of his cheek to keep from breaking his manly face. "Yeah. This is just a beesting."

She chuckled. "I see." Carefully, she began sewing the wound. "Thank you," she whispered.

He grinned. "It was nothing."

"True." Her eyes twinkled at the taunt.

His smile was bright now. "Gee, thanks." It was a nice distraction from the needle, though.

Melinda finished up her stitching and gently taped on a bandage. "Good as new." Her eyes rose up his chest, resting on the scar. But she didn't ask. She simply let those delicate fingers trace up to it, outlining it with her touch.

Phil took a deep breath. "Melinda…"

She looked into his eyes, inching closer…

As a knock came at the door. "May! Rent!"

A slew of words in Chinese left her mouth. Phil was pretty sure they weren't nice words. Melinda hopped over to her purse, yanking out a check. He didn't have any time to hide from sight when she threw open the door, shoving the rent into the landlord's hand and slamming the door in his face.

Phil chuckled, reaching for his shirt. "And on that note…"

She grinned. "Thanks again."

He nodded. "Anytime." With a wink, he headed back down the hall.


	3. Chapter 3

Wound healing is an intricate process where the skin repairs itself after injury. In normal skin, the epidermis and dermis exist in a steady-state equilibrium, forming a protective barrier against the external environment. Once the protective barrier is broken, the normal process of wound healing is immediately set in motion.

But Phil couldn't even feel the wound anymore. All he could feel were the traces of Melinda's fingers on his chest.

The next night, he knew she had to work. She worked at a bar called "The Cavalry." Only a few miles from where they lived. But he'd never gone there.

Jeans? No. He couldn't wear just jeans to see her. But were slacks too pretentious? Maybe a suit without the tie? Something about that felt right. Top button undone. Yeah, that could work.

The bar was loud with some sort of loud thumping music. Why the hell was he even here? This was her place of work…

His mind stopped working. There she was behind the bar in tight leather pants and a halter top. Her hair was pinned up off that slender neck and her smile was bright as she served her customers. The light that poured out of her was really what was bringing the party to life. Phil grinned as he watched her from afar. He didn't want to bother her while she was working. Hell, he still wasn't sure what he was planning on saying to her.

Someone came up behind her and tapped her shoulder. Break time. Melinda gave a nod and headed to the back. Taking a deep breath, Phil headed that way.

She was outside, leaning back on the brick wall in the alley, one foot up to brace herself, her eyes closed and arms crossed over her chest. This was rest for her.

He was cautious as he approached. "Melinda?"

Her eyes snapped open. "Phil?"

He grinned, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Nice night."

She blinked. "I suppose." She took in his appearance. He couldn't help the small grin that spread.

He took a tentative step forward. "I've never seen you at work."

Her grin started to match his. "I've seen you at work."

He paused. "What?"

"What? A bartender can't date an attorney?"

Phil felt his heart sink a little. She was dating. "Oh, uh, that's not what I meant."

Melinda watched him, seemingly amused by him. "You, however, don't seem the type to frequent this kind of bar."

"Where do you see me frequenting?"

She gave a shrug. "I don't know. I think you'd need a real vacation. Maybe Tahiti."

"Well, it's a magical place." He stopped. Why had that seemed so familiar?

The back door to the club opened, a tall, brooding man glaring at Melinda. "Hey, break's up. Jemma's getting slammed in there."

"Be right there, Grant." As the man slipped back inside, she pushed off the wall. "I'll make you a drink while you're here. Maybe after my shift, we could grab some pancakes."

Phil nodded. "Sure."

The diner itself was nothing special. Phil arrived early, giving Melinda time to close up at the bar before meeting him.

The bright brunette waitress smiled. Her handwritten name tag read "Skye" with a little smiley face after it. She was one of the main reasons he came. Skye worked a graveyard shift and sometimes the drunken asses came in and gave her crap. He didn't like that. She… was almost like a daughter to him.

"Sitting at the counter?" she asked as she grabbed him a menu she knew he didn't need.

He shook his head. "Actually, a booth, if you could."

She raised an eyebrow. "Gettin' all mysterious on me." She smiled and led him to a booth.

"Just meeting a friend." He slid into the worn green vinyl seat.

"A lady friend?" she teased.

He chuckled. "Yes, Skye. A lady friend."

As if on queue, the tiny silver bell over the door chimed like a fairy. Melinda held her jacket around her as her deep eyes scanned the diner.

"_Her_?" Skye whispered.

"Thanks for boosting my confidence," he grumbled as he waved her over.

Melinda grinned. "Hey." She slipped off her jacket, exposing those toned and lethal arms as she tossed it into the booth before slipping in.

Skye got a twinkle in her eye and quickly went to get them waters.

Phil sat back. "My side isn't hurting much at all, thanks for asking."

Melinda chuckled. "Don't be a baby."

"Hey, I was stabbed…"

"Scratched, is more like it." But the playful glint in her eye told him she really was glad he was okay. After Skye returned, bringing them water and taking their orders, Melinda settled in. "You know, we've lived in the same building for a couple of years now and you still don't know how to just come out and ask me on a date."

Phil almost choked on his water. "Pardon?"

"You bring me my mail, hold on to UPS packages for me and even swept the snow off my car." Melinda grinned. "But still, no date."

"It sounds like your dating schedule might have been a little full."

She raised an eyebrow. "Pardon?"

"You said you were dating a lawyer?"

"About eight months ago."

He paused. "Oh."

"And don't think I didn't see that cellist you brought home a few nights last month," she teased, sipping her water.

"Audrey, yeah… we… uh, it's not going to work out."

She raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"I think she was clinging to me like a light in the darkness." Phil paused. A light in the darkness.

"Phil?"

He had to close his eyes. There was something spinning in his head.

"Phil?" Skye's voice rang through. He hadn't realized the girl had come up to them. She had a hand on his arm. "You okay?"

Melinda had risen from her seat as well. "He doesn't look so good."

Skye nodded. "Phil, did you walk or drive tonight?"

"Walk." He put a hand to his head. "I'm okay. Just got a headache coming on again I think."

Skye nodded again. "Okay. Let's get some food in ya to help that."

Something else was aching. That scar. The one on his chest. But he shook off the feeling. He would enjoy this meal with Melinda May.


	4. Chapter 4

_"But why is it a house of leaves?"_

Phil gasped some as he woke, drenched in sweat and short of breath. There was something he couldn't place. It was a dream but not a dream. _Did I fall asleep? For a little while_. Blindly, he grabbed at a bottle of aspirin from his nightstand and popped two in his mouth. The headaches were mild but constant now. It had been two days since his late night dinner with Melinda and he'd holed up with this strange feeling. Everything was getting so confusing these last couple of weeks. He'd had such a normal life until then.

He swung his legs out of bed, the box spring creeking in protest as it shifted under him. The flickering red digits on his clock read 09:44 but for the life of him, Phil couldn't remember if it was AM or PM.

The knock on his door meant AM.

"Phil?" The front door provided little to no sound barrier between them. Melinda knocked again. "Phil, are you okay?"

He pulled on his sweat pants and an AC/DC t-shirt with a coffee stain. But he didn't care. The stream of light made him flinch as he opened the door. "Morning."

She had a knife in her hand, her look hard. "You were shouting. I was about to break in. Who's in there?"

He opened the door wider, letting it squeal on it's hinges. "No one. Have a look."

Melinda held tight to her knife but stepped over the threshold. He was only slightly aware that this was the first time she'd been in his apartment. Her eyes traced the worn brown sueded couch, the slightly splintered crates that were his coffee table, and the stack of books littered about.

Comic books.

Phil pinched the bridge of his nose. "Told you. No one."

She tucked her knife in a small sheath on her belt. "What were you shouting about?"

He sighed and shut the door. "I don't even remember shouting."

She glanced back to him. "You're sweating."

"I think I was dreaming." He sat heavily on the couch.

She sat behind him. "You look like shit rolled over."

He felt like it, too. "Gee, thanks?"

Melinda chuckled. "You know what I mean." She paused. "You haven't really said much since the diner. Skye says you haven't been around."

"Haven't felt well," he admitted, reaching for a half empty bottle of stale beer.

Her eyes followed the bottle to his lips. "You know you can talk to me, right?"

He took a swig and set it down. "I don't have anything to say. I don't even know what's going on."

She put a hand on his arm. "Your headaches. They're getting worse, aren't they?"

He closed his eyes, the blackness of his eyelids gave little comfort to the gentle throbbing in his brain. _There must be a bulb out. I couldn't resist._

Her cool hand cupped his cheek. "Should I take you to the doctor?" she whispered.

He kept his eyes closed, taking in the sensation of her touch. "No." He wasn't sure if he said that out loud or not. It didn't matter. He felt her warm breath as her lips brushed over his.

_It's a magical place._


	5. Chapter 5

_"Time to gather up the splinters, build a casket for my tears…"_

Most men nowadays were so simple. They were all about one thing when it came to a woman. But Phil took in everything about the exotic beauty that was lying beside him. She was a stomach sleeper. Melinda's dark hair framed her satiny smooth skin and rosy lips. His eyes trailed down the contours of her muscled back to the curve of her hip. He grinned as his finger traced the tiny tattoo of a mouse that rested just above that sensitive spot where her thigh met her rear.

He rolled onto his back, lacing his fingers behind his head and staring at the ceiling. Most apartments didn't use that white popcorn style material anymore. It helped him to remember just how old the building was. Probably older than he was, if that was possible.

Melinda grumbled some as she started to wake. Slowly, she turned over, shivering some at the cool air on her bare skin. "Phil?"

He reached over and rubbed her arm. "I'm right here," he cooed softly as he brushed a strand of hair from her face.

A lazy smile splayed over her lips. "Feeling better?"

He chuckled. "Yes. Much."

She shifted to move closer, using her toes to grip the thin blanket at the foot of the bed and pull it up to where she could reach it. Her nimbleness seemed to know no bounds. "Cold," was all she said as she drug the blanket up around them.

"Yeah, the heater in this place kind of sucks." Phil wrapped his arms around her, taking a deep breath. He hadn't expected this intimacy but it had been more than welcome. She was there with him. The warrior woman he'd admired from afar for so long.

_I did it for you, to protect you! I - You mean a lot to me. A lot._

Phil squeezed his eyes shut tight. Her voice rang through his head but she hadn't said those words out loud.

A knock at his front door cut through the comfort of their post-coital bliss. With a heavy sigh, he got up, pulling on some pants. "Don't move," he grinned down at her.

Melinda gave a wink and let him go.

As he opened the front door, he was a little surprised. "Leo?"

The younger man hadn't combed his hair and the dark circles under his eyes showed that he hadn't slept in a while. His "Bazinga" t-shirt had nacho cheese on it. "Aye. Went to snatch up the mail and found…" He held out the letters with Phil's name on them but gasped when he noticed something behind him on the couch. Melinda's jacket. "No. Way."

Phil glanced behind him with a grin. "What? Doesn't look like my size?"

Leo's eyes got wide. The young game designer may not have had a lot in common with him, but one thing was their admiration for Melinda. "You… and…?" he left the question hanging as he pulled his eyes away from the jacket and back to Phil.

"He and what?" Melinda came out, only a blanket wrapped around her.

The poor boy was stunned into silence. Phil wasn't sure if it was due to the fact that he didn't think that Phil was having sex or the fact that it was with Melinda.

She came closer to the door, glancing at the mail. "Damn. That mailman is really messing up lately."

Leo was trying to form words. He pointed to her, then to Phil, then back again.

"It's called sex. Adults have it." She tugged Phil back in and shut the door.


	6. Chapter 6

Work seemed like white noise to him now. Phil sat at the security desk of Wolfram and Hart with a notepad in front of him, doodling away. The symbol seemed familiar. Like an eagle of some sort. But the crest was round, sharp angles. Why did it look so familiar to him? It belonged on some sort of uniform, he was sure. But he'd never seen a military or DOD faction with that logo.

"Coulson," a woman's voice snapped from behind him. "Pretend to look like you're working, at least." Tabitha Kane was just under the senior partners. Known for being the Cast Iron Queen, she reveled in tearing down everyone around her. "This isn't a kindergarten art class."

"Yes, Miss Kane," he grumbled as he shoved the notepad under a stack of papers.

She set a file on the countertop in front of him. "How long have you worked for us now?"

Damn, it was his personnel file. "Seven years."

She flipped it open. "And before that, you were in line to become a US Marshal."

"Yes, ma'am."

"What happened with that?" The loud click of her pen echoed in the empty lobby and she started jotting a note.

"I was injured." Phil tried not to reach for his chest where the scar was.

"How?"

"I don't know."

Kane looked up from her note, eyes narrowing. "You don't know how you were injured."

"I know that there were several surgeries. I know that I have a scar over my heart but no, I don't know how I was injured."

Instead of probing further, she simply dropped her eyes back to the page and jotted more down. "Good."

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. "Good?"

She closed the folder. "Remembering a trauma like that would probably give you an excuse to be lazier than you already are."

He glared. "Gee, thanks."

"And change out that bulb back there. It gives that corner a creepy vibe." She snatched up the file, her heels clicking authoritatively as she made her way back to the elevator.

_Sorry, that corner was really dark, I couldn't help myself. I think there's a bulb out. _


	7. Chapter 7

_"She listened as her dreams silently screamed. They drowned like little dolphins caught in a fishnet. Dear World, I'm pleased to meet you."_

He really shouldn't have been there. But Phil had to know what Kane had meant. It was good he didn't remember? He took a deep breath and touched his ear. "All clear on ten." He slipped off the elevator. If it was one thing he knew, it was habits. After the check in, Kamanski would sneak out back for a cigarette even though he wasn't supposed to.

That gave Phil about ten minutes.

Quickly, he skirted down the tenth floor to the stairs, quickly marching up two flights to the vice board's offices. Kane was the third door down the hall. He made his way over swiftly, pulling out a security card and swiping it over the scanner. It flashed green as the lock clicked, letting him in.

She kept a clean office, complete with statement artwork and a small bar to the side. She wanted to show her power and dominance through every inch of her office.

So why did he spy a scuff mark near the bar?

Phil stepped closer, feeling along the edge of the wood until he felt the small give of a button. Pressing it, a separate file cabinet opened. The labels were clear and crisp, leaving no doubt as to who they were about. _Phillip Coulson, Melinda May, Leo Fitz, Grant Ward, Jemma Simmons, Skye Poots_. Poots? Really?

There was only about five minutes left. Quickly, he opened up his file and started snapping pictures with his phone. After that, he paused. Those other names were all people he knew. Taking a deep breath, he photographed them all.

People like Kane were meticulous so he made sure that speck of dust was back in place. Just as quickly as he had come, he scurried out and back to his desk to take a better look at the files he'd photographed.

His was the first, of course. Most of the first page had been what he expected, biographical basics. He sighed as he saw his age but flipped to the next image…

A coroner's report.

With his name.

Phil's phone almost slipped from his hand as he read how he'd been dead for three days. A stabbing incident.

Three days.

"Phil? You okay?" Kamanski asked. "You're pale."

He shook his head. "I have to go." Without waiting for a response, he grabbed his keys and went.

Papers littered Phil's living room, put together in a hap-hazard manner as he tried to connect the dots. He had two major questions: Had he really died and why was Wolfram and Hart keeping that a secret while he worked there?

* * *

><p>The files on Melinda and the others were personality profiles and biographical information. Only his file had contained detailed medical records. Including some treatment called GH325.<p>

"Phil?" Melinda knocked softly on his door. Glancing at the clock, he realized why. He had told her he'd meet her for a late dinner at her place.

An hour ago.

"Just a sec." He quickly shoved all the papers into a file then into a satchel. Until he could make sense of things, he wasn't going to drag her into it.

She was in jeans and a tank top, her hands braced on her hips. "If you're going to stand me up, you should at least pretend you're not home."

"Melinda, I'm sorry. I spaced out on what time it was." He rubbed his face. "Can you give me about five minutes to splash some water on my face?"

Her eyes squinted. "Are you alright?"

He took a deep breath. "Just thinking too much."

She grinned. "That could be hazardous."

He tried to let his worries slip away over dinner but he couldn't stop seeing those reports. What the hell was a law firm doing with that information? And why did Kane say it was good he didn't remember?

"Phil."

His eyes snapped up. "Sorry."

Melinda shook her head. "You are five hundred miles away. What are you thinking about?"

He set his fork down with a sigh. "I think… I think I died."

One blink. Two blinks. "Pardon?"

"That scar on my chest? The one I can't remember getting? I think it's from a fatal wound."

"If it was a fatal wound, that means you'd be dead. But you're not."

"That's what I thought, too. But then… well, I broke into my boss' office and found a file."

Melinda sat back some. "In the law office?"

He nodded. "Yeah. They have a file on me and on people I interact with… like you."

"Me?"

"And Leo. And Skye. Hell, even that ass Grant that you work with."

She didn't like this. She took a swig off her beer. "What's in the files?"

"Oh you? Pretty much the basics." Phil went ahead and told her about Kane's odd question, the medical file and the GH325. "So you see… that's what distracted me."

She finished off her beer. "This isn't good. But… what if I could get you more info?"

"What do you mean?"

"I told you, I used to date a lawyer. Maybe I can get some info out of him."

"Like we're Cagney and Lacey?"

"You wish you were as cool as them. We're more like Super Troopers at this point."

"So you're going undercover."

She sighed heavily. "I hate undercover.


	8. Chapter 8

"_But I just played along. Cause I was hoping that would fix it all."_

Phil decided he hated undercover, too. Mostly because this lawyer, some guy named Lance Hunter, had his tongue shoved down Melinda's throat as he kissed her goodnight in the hallway. Luckily, that kiss was all he got. She slipped into her apartment alone, leaving him sighing and heading back to this fancy car.

What a tool.

Phil waited a good ten minutes before going to her apartment and knocking. She opened the door, hair pulled back, yoga pants and cami on. She hated heels. "Come in," she offered, motioning. She already had some incense going as she tried to come back to her own space again. He could tell that the date may have been enjoyable for Lance, but that she really wasn't that into him.

Phil grinned.

"So, I pocketed his card. You said you can use that, right?" Melinda pulled out an ID badge.

"Yeah. It'll at least get me into the records division." He took it from her. "So, date go well?"

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "I forgot how handsy he is. Thinks he so suave because he's got an accent. And every other story mentioned his ex wife."

"That's attractive," Phil chuckled as he sat on the couch. "So why did you go out with that guy in the first place?"

She shrugged. "He asked. Seemed nice enough. Thought I'd give it a shot."

"How long did it last?"

"About three months." She sipped on some water.

"Wow… that's a long time."

"The sex was good."

Phil's brow creased. "Gee, thanks for that."

A cocky grin spread over her face. "You asked."

He twirled the ID card in his hand. _I can't think of a single time when anything alien in human hands ended well._

Quickly, he squeezed his eyes shut tight. The words, flashes, scenarios, were all coming more frequently now. And if he didn't stop them soon, he wasn't sure what was going to happen.

* * *

><p>"Third cup of coffee," Skye pointed out as she refilled Phil's cup at the counter. "You ready to talk to me yet?"<p>

He sighed as he stared at the steam rising from the cup. "You ever have a time in your life when you wonder - really wonder - if there was something you missed? Like a part of your past knew was there but it was just out of your reach?"

She leaned on the counter, propping her chin on her elbow. "Kind of. What's going on? The last couple of weeks, you've changed."

He had. He'd gone from carefree and every day man to someone who didn't even know if that man was real. "Just getting old, I guess."

She grinned. "Hardly. You snagged that really pretty gal. How is she, by the way?"

Phil couldn't help the smile that formed on his lips at the thought of Melinda. "She's wonderful."

"How did you two meet?"

"She's a neighbor. Couple of doors down from me."

Skye watched him for a second. "You were the love-struck puppy, weren't you? Moping around, not talking to her…"

He chuckled. "How do you do that?"

"I just know you, Philly Cheesesteak."

He cringed. "What's wrong with calling me Phil? Or Coulson?" _AC sounds cooler._

"Hey, you okay?" Skye reached out to put a hand on his arm.

The echo in his head finally faded. "I'm fine. Just not sleeping well." It was the truth. He was barely sleeping anymore. His dreams were filled with these alternate realities flashing through his mind.

Skye frowned. "You're working too much, aren't you?"

"Working hard or hardly working." He chuckled.

The chime on the door sounded as Melinda's boss, his name was Grant if he remembered right, strode in. The man looked like he took life way too seriously. Phil was pretty sure he'd never seen a smile grace the man's face and he always spoke directly, to the point. He wasn't one for small talk.

Maybe the guy just needed to get laid.

Grant sat at the counter near Phil. "Coffee, black." He did a slight double take as he saw Skye, his eyes shimmering with something of a recollection.

Skye actually pinkened a little as she brought him his cup. "Same old, same old," she smiled. "Let me guess, turkey on sourdough. Light mayo."

He gave a nod, the corner of his mouth maybe turning into a smile. "You know me too well."

Skye smiled and skipped into the kitchen with his order ticket.

Phil glanced over. "You work at that bar, right? You're Melinda's boss?"

He nodded. "Yeah. That's me." He studied Phil some. "I've seen you around."

"Yeah, I'm kind of seeing her."

Grant choked on his coffee some. "You are?"

Phil scoffed. "Why is everyone so surprised I date? Is it the clothes? Do I have dad clothes?"

"No, I just… she… and… well we…"

"You what?" Phil didn't like the churning in his stomach right now.

"Nothing." Grant let that awkwardness hang as Skye brought out his sandwich.

Phil took a deep breath, left a tip, and walked out.


End file.
